


you've ruined me forever

by swarmsoflizards



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Offstage Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swarmsoflizards/pseuds/swarmsoflizards
Summary: Dorian got punched in the face. Adaar helps him feel better.





	you've ruined me forever

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this ages ago and forgot about it, then rediscovered it last night and fixed it up. seems to be a running theme for me, but i'm cool with it.
> 
> title is from _heart swells / pacific daylight time_ by los campesinos! _coat fell, heart swells / draped across the sofa / sleep well, i feel / you've ruined me forever_

He hasn't seen himself yet, but Dorian can imagine the way he looks perfectly based on which areas of his face are in dull pain. His left eye is swollen rather tremendously, to the point where he can barely see out of it. The deep purple bruising spreads to his nose, which is tender to the touch, and down to his upper lip. There are cuts on his cheek from his assailant’s gauntlet in a diagonal line extending downwards, which he can only pray won't scar horribly.

All in all, he must be a dismal picture.

Adaar flinches in sympathy whenever Dorian is struck with unexpected pain and tries to offer healing, which he declines; Dorian is easily one of the better off currently at camp, and any mana or potions are better reserved for someone truly in need. Even so, he keeps a frosty hand at his cheek near constantly to dull the pain.

Eyes closed, he feels Adaar’s weight descend next to him on the log. When he opens his eyes he’s met with Adaar’s big worried face right up close, which is sweet, but also unnecessary. “How are you doing?” he asks, his lowered voice all rumbly. Dorian wants to live inside it.

“Really,  _ amatus _ , I don't see what all the fuss is about. We all lived to fight another day, which is more than can be said for our opponents, and I just have a little bruising to show for it. It's nothing, truly.”

“The healer said if he’d hit lower you could have lost teeth.”

“Yes, well, let's keep that hypothetical out of our minds. No one needs to imagine that nightmare.”

Adaar scrunches his eyebrows in a way that means he’ll think about it anyway. “I hope the pain is better, at least?”

Dorian nods, then winces. “Somewhat, yes.”

Adaar gestures at Dorian’s hand pressed to his face. “May I?”

Dorian lowers his hand and lets the frost dissolve as Adaar reaches out to cup his cheek. Dorian has always loved Adaar’s hands; for being so large they're surprisingly delicate, which he supposes comes with being a mage. The size serves its purpose now as one meets Dorian’s bruised skin and flushes cold. Dorian can't help a sigh of relief, and Adaar chuckles.

“Hush, you. Next time you get punched in the face see if I help.” His voice is down to a murmur now, not wanting to jinx the relief of Adaar’s magic.

“I'm not certain any Venatori could reach.” He’s… got a point. Damn. 

In lieu of responding, Dorian leans further into Adaar’s hand. The cold pressure against his abused skin is a thing of such glory that he doesn't even care how foolish he must look burying his face in the Inquisitor’s palm. Adaar smiles sympathetically at him, and Dorian hopes the weak approximation he returns is enough.

“I wanted to apologize,” Adaar starts, but Dorian shakes his head. Pain shoots up his cheek like lightning and he hisses, and Adaar conjures more frost to help. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says weakly. 

“I do,” Adaar insists. “If my barrier had held, or if I had noticed that soldier, you wouldn't be hurting.”

“You don't get to blame yourself for every small misfortune under your guard. I could have run the blighter through with my staff blade, but I didn't. It is what it is,  _ amatus,  _ and there's no use reliving it.” 

Adaar looks down at his feet. “How do you always know what to say?” he says, almost embarrassed. “I try to plan my words but when the time comes they just disappear. I never know what I'm saying until it's out.”

“I know you have trouble, but no one would ever know watching you schmooze the nobility.”

Adaar smiles self-consciously. “I really don't know how Josephine and Varric can manipulate people like that. I just try to be nice to them, and for some reason they like me.”

Dorian almost laughs. “Nobody is ever nice to them without wanting something in return. They like you because you offer them wine and tell them they’re pretty.”

Adaar huffs, “I'm just being polite,” and looks back at Dorian. “But you always seem to know what I'm thinking. I don't know how you do it, but thank you.” He laughs. “I came over here to apologize to you, see? I'm serious, though.” The warmth in his eyes heats Dorian to his core, despite the chill on his face. 

They're alone now, the last stragglers retreated into their tents and the night guards patrolling out of view. The fire spits sparks into the silence.

Dorian leans forward and kisses Adaar tenderly on the lips. This is why he loves Adaar, he thinks: he finds him when he's fragile and helps ease him back into himself. It's a gift from the Maker, and Adaar will never see it for himself.

“What was that for?” Adaar ask when their lips part and Dorian presses their foreheads together.

“Just for being yourself,” Dorian replies, and smiles.

Adaar laughs, low and steady. “If you say so,” he says, which is just precious. The scar that curves under his eye folds up when his eyes are crinkled like this, and Dorian is reminded unpleasantly of the scars he might or might not bear once his face has healed.

Adaar is oblivious to his thoughts’ turn, and is still staring at him lovingly.

Well, if they’d look as good on him as they do on Adaar, maybe he wouldn't mind so much.

“Now seems as good a time as any,” Adaar says, and Dorian looks up to meet his eyes in question. “I got you something.” He reaches into a pocket inside his coat and pulls out what looks like a little box. He holds it out and flicks it open with his thumb, revealing-

“Great bloody fuck, are you proposing?” Dorian all but shouts into Adaar’s face, gaping at the shining gold band placed delicately in the center of the box.

“What- no!” Adaar shakes his head frantically. “I mean- it's my mom’s, and I'm giving it to you, but I didn't mean it like that!” Adaar’s eyes are wide as he tries to explain himself. “I just meant it as a gift.”

And Maker take him, Dorian feels a twinge of disappointment in him.  _ Disappointment  _ at not being proposed to completely out of the blue in the bloody Ferelden wilderness by an oxman.

“Great, now I've gone and ruined the whole thing,” Adaar continues. “I wanted to get you something, you know, that says ‘I love you’ and ‘thanks for putting up with me’ and all that, so I thought I'd give you my… Actually, that was dumb. Of course it seems like a-  _ mmph.”  _ Dorian cuts him off by pressing a kiss to his mouth, heedless of his aching face, wrapping his arms around Adaar. Adaar sighs into the kiss, tense shoulders going slack, and when it's done Dorian gingerly leans his face into the crook of his neck. Adaar’s hand finds the back of his neck and strokes his hair.

“So, you, uh, like it?”

“I love it. I love you,” he murmurs. “You ridiculous man.”

He feels Adaar chuckle as he brings his other arm around Dorian’s back.

“I love you too.”   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ thomrainierskies.tumblr.com !


End file.
